


Cool Hand Luke

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [212]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Quinn know how to keep cool at their office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool Hand Luke

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obi1mcgregor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obi1mcgregor/gifts).



> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For  
> My beta team: Emila-Wan and Carol  
> Mali Wane for posting to the MA List  
> Travis for posting to the MA Archive on AO3  
> Alex for inspiring Arcadia

Quinn sat on the windowsill of his Luke office on the second floor of Taton Hall, with an iced cappuccino from Oppo's in one cool hand. He was wearing his summertime uniform of a crisp white shirt and Dockers, with his other hand spread over a thigh. The window was open, letting in the gentle breeze of a Wednesday afternoon in late June; the sky was mostly cloudy, keeping the temperature moderate.

He looked out over the soccer field in back of Taton, where a game was scheduled for later that day, and saw his husband jogging through the field towards him. Since it had rained that morning, the sky was intensely blue and the grass was a particularly vibrant shade of green. Ian had taken the shortcut from the Ataru Gymnasium to Taton, and Quinn could see the damp gleam of his newly washed hair from here. His lad had a relaxed gait that spoke of a good team practice and a general contentment with the galaxy.

Ian was wearing fresh clothes after his workout with the Skyhawks -- a cream Luke tanktop and brown training shorts. When he saw Quinn at the window, he waved at his herven jauntily as he jogged along. After a couple of minutes, Ian had already reached the line of trees along the path to the back door. By the time he walked into the office and locked the door, Quinn was at his desk, whistling a tune that sounded like it might be Tchaikovsky.

"Hey, Quinn!" Ian said, happiness lighting his face.

"Hello, lad. Good practice today?" Quinn said.

"Oh, yeah! The kids are staying in shape, even though it's the off-season," Ian said. "Looks like they'll be ready to take on Vaderbilt next year."

Strolling right by his own desk and over to Quinn's, he unceremoniously plunked himself down to sit on top of it, his sneakers drumming an idiosyncratic beat against the drawers. One of the things Quinn liked the most about sharing the office with Ian was his laddie's complete disregard for Quinn's personal desk space. And right now, Ian didn't even seem to notice that his bare lower thighs and calves were just inches away from Quinn's arms and legs.

But Quinn certainly did. He noticed everything about his lad. Ian's skin carried the faint scent of the Irish Spring bars of soap they used in the gym showers; his hair was finger-combed, accentuating its natural spikiness; his tanktop revealed shoulders toned by all of the work on the still rings he'd done this past season; in short, vigor practically glowed off of him. He looked for all the galaxy like a modern-day version of Obi-Wan Kenobi, when he was Master Jinn's Padawan, freshly returned from sparring in a Temple salle, after a luxurious shower. No sonics for him when water was available!

While Quinn was thinking about the apprentice, Ian was thinking of his Master. Quinn's hair was already a few inches longer than usual because his classes wouldn't start again until the autumn semester. So his glorious chestnut mane was now boasting its usual summertime profusion. As wonderful as it looked to Ian, it tended to get in Quinn's way during his everyday activities, like aikido and eating.

He'd swept it off of his face with a tooled leather strip Ian had gifted him with at a crafts fair in Alder Run. Quinn had deepened his thank-you hug when he saw an outline of a lightsaber etched in the leather. He would probably keep his hair tied back until his usual trip to his barber, Micah Gietowski, a couple of days before classes began in September.

At this hour of the afternoon, Quinn had developed a Masterful "four o'clock shadow," so you could squint and see the makings of a beard and moustache worthy of Qui-Gon Jinn himself.

"Here you go, lad," said Quinn, throwing Ian a bottle of water he'd bought at Oppo's, when he'd gotten his iced cappuccino.

Ian caught the bottle with the ease of a shortstop and rubbed it against his cheek with a sigh. "Thanks! Feels so good."

The condensation shone on Ian's face as he took the first sip of water. Quinn looked on appreciatively, while he continued to drink his cappuccino.

"You should've seen Gareth Muller working the high bar today. That guy can really fly!" Ian's enthusiasm brightened the room.

Quinn asked, "Is he the freckled kid who was the pommel horse champion at the meet with the Maulers a couple of months ago?"

"Yeah, that's Gary, all right," Ian answered.

"I remember his floor routine," said Quinn. "Some of the tumbling passes reminded me of yours."

Ian grinned. "Well, I've only been coaching him for two years now." He drank some more Evian.

"He's learning from the best, m'lad," rumbled Quinn.

Ian laughed merrily. "Oh, Quinn! You think I could've beaten Alexei Nemov on a good day."

"Touche!" Quinn chuckled. "Maybe I'm not the most objective observer when it comes to you," he continued, his hand reaching out of its own accord to pat Ian's calf. His herven's bare skin felt clean and as cool as his own under the ceiling fan.

Ian hummed his approval as he subtly pushed into Quinn's palm. "Well, at least you are when we're doing aikido," said Ian, in high good humor from his husband's caress, a rare treat in their office. As a bonus, Quinn's hand still felt cool from the ice in his drink. "You still correct my form at least twice a day."

"Striving for perfection is always a good thing, laddie." Quinn's eyes twinkled at him...

...And Ian's shone back at him in Elven leaf-green. "Speaking of which, do you have time this week to proofread my article on the Inklings for the M.L.A.?"

Quinn nodded. "I could do with a reason to postpone tinkering with my Beckett syllabus for a couple of days."

Ian said, "Thanks, ma gradh." (my husband)

"I'm the one who should be thanking *you*, Ian." Quinn rumbled a laugh. "Godot will just have to wait a little longer."

Ian couldn't resist a groan. "So now you're outdoing me in the pun department, are you?"

"Where's your competitive spirit, lad?" Quinn winked. "Here you are, fresh from the gym, and you're ceding the field to me already?"

"Not so fast, hubby mine." Ian's eyes sparkled. "Our friendly competition has spanned over a decade already, with no sign of ever ending. I'd like to keep it that way."

"So would I, my love, so would I," Quinn said emphatically. He patted Ian's bare leg again, this time right at the hem of his shorts. 'You're living dangerously, Professor Masterson,' he thought, 'especially with an impetuous laddie like yours.'

Quinn was right.

Ian used his Jedi-like reflexes to reach out his hand and capture Quinn's before he could pull it away, even though his own hand was smaller by comparison. He knew very well that this caress was a unique event in their office and wanted to prolong the Moment as long as possible. If he could relish their closeness without getting carried away, Quinn might feel less skittish about becoming affectionate with him here.

Ian vowed not to move Quinn's fingers even an inch upwards; he didn't want to break the spell and lose their skin-to-skin connection.

Quinn was frozen in place. He knew he shouldn't be doing this at Luke, but nonetheless, it was the second time his hand had been drawn to Ian's bare leg in the last couple of minutes. He couldn't blame Ian --he had started it both times. And now his lad was waiting to see what he would do.

Waiting with green eyes, with a tantalizing hint of blue; waiting with a hopeful grin, which was altogether irresistible.

The door was locked; Quinn had closed the blinds before Ian had come into their office; at least there was no chance of being seen. Quinn made his decision -- he shifted in his chair, so he could reach more of his husband. Now he could put his other hand on top of Ian's, so that his lad was the filling in Quinn's finger sandwich.

"Ah, lad. You surely know how to tease me." Quinn squeezed Ian's hand. "And most of all, you tease my senses."

"I try my best," said Ian, in an intimate tone best described as a purr.

"Master Yoda might have something to say to you about that." Quinn couldn't resist getting in a bit of teasing of his own, especially when Ian gave him a perfect set-up like that.

Ian smiled into Quinn's eyes, relishing their wordplay. "You're right, and you also were right to set our office rules, but sometimes they seem almost impossible to follow."

Quinn's voice became low and intense. "I know, love. I feel it, too." He ran his fingers over the back of Ian's hand.

"Are you done here for today?" Ian asked, his voice holding the same intensity.

"Yes," Quinn said in simple satisfaction.

"Then I suggest we continue this at home," Ian said.

Quinn gave him a slow smile. "Good idea, lad."

They kept their hands together for a long moment, then finally disentangled them.

Quinn grabbed the empty plastic cup, which had held his iced cappuccino, and threw it in the recycling bin a few feet away. "Two points," he crowed.

Ian clapped and grabbed his hand. "Cool hand Luke. Mmmmmm."

Laughing, they headed for home.


End file.
